


to have this dance

by jackgyeoms



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Minor Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, but barely there i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8849587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackgyeoms/pseuds/jackgyeoms
Summary: She is sitting at the royal table, back straight and hands folded in her lap. She smiles, but she’s always smiling, and she’s got the kind of mask that he cannot see through.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for eliyannas on tumblr.
> 
> unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.

 

She is sitting at the royal table, back straight and hands folded in her lap. She smiles, but she’s always smiling, and she’s got the kind of mask that he cannot see through. Her new husband is already away, but her brothers stand as guards. They converse in low voices and watch the room.

He has heard stories of the Martell’s. He knows of the prowess of the Viper and the tales of agonizing suffering that those at the end of his spear met. He knows of the heir and his sickness that made him weak, but you couldn’t see it in him now. And she, the wife of the Crowned Prince, he had heard even less about. He knew that she was beautiful, and he knew that she was the wildness of Dorne had her trained in combat. Sitting there, in her pretty wedding dress, she didn’t look a warrior. A queen, though; yes, he could see that.

Cersei hissed for his attention, and he gave it to her because he always did, but his eyes drifted back to Elia and her smile whenever a turn took him to her.

(He didn’t know if Cersei noticed. He thinks she did, because when he went to her that night, she bit so viciously into his skin that he would bear her mark for days).

-

She is sitting alone, her smile in place, and he thinks this one must be real because her hands are settled on the rise of her swollen stomach. She’s carrying the heir to the throne, and there’s no reason for her not to be pleased. This is the celebration, a joyous occasion filled with music and laughter and eyes that watched far too closely.

Four people had been burnt today. She smiled then too.

He’s on duty and he stands at Aerys side like he’s supposed to. The king is slumped and maliciously pondering. The Queen sits by her daughter in law, and talks of the times that she carried her babes, the highs and the lows, with such fondness. (He remembers the screaming from behind closed doors that continued, always continued, and wonders whether those children had been born through violence too).

“And what do you think Ser Jaime?” she asks him, her voice strong but carefully.

She has noticed him staring, he realises, and the back of his neck grows hot. “I’m sorry?”

Rhaella is looking at him too now, “Elia wished to know your opinion on whether she is carrying a prince or princess.”

He glances to the side of Aerys head, and said, “A prince, of course. One as strong as a dragon.”

Rhaella bows her head slightly, and Elia watches him. And a snake. But she doesn’t voice that. It’s not wise too.

(Princess Rhaenys is born a month later than the master says, and has the Targaryen colours. He sees her from a distance, and listens to the kings ramblings and wonders whether that was the only thing that saved her).

-

Rhaenys runs into his legs and giggles, and Elia follows afterward. She’s been weak since the birth of her child over a year ago, and he can see it on her face when she stops. Her fingers are shaking, and she sways. He reaches out for her automatically – the first time he’s touched her, and she feels clammy under his fingertips – and inquires to her health.

She says she’s fine, and smiles. She always smiles.

“Ja-me,” Rhaenys declares. She’s only young. She cannot pronounce his name properly, but this feels special and for him and warms his chilled heart, if only just.

“And where, princess, are you off to in such a hurry?” he asks.

He keeps up titles. He doesn’t know who might be listening.

“She wants to see beyond the Red Keep,” Elia answers for them both, and Rhaenys makes a squealing noise of confirmation. She does a little spin too and beams at him. His chest actually hurts at what Aerys will do to her innocence. (She already knows to sit quietly in her grandfather’s presence, and clings to her mother at the burnings. She knows she’s not allowed to cry.)

“It’s not safe to travel without a guard,” he warns, and she smiles when she points out that it’s quite fortunate they’ve not got one.

He stays with them for the morning, listens to Rhaenys attempt at the common tongue and Elia’s soft corrections. He keeps his distance, as the kingsguard is supposed to, but Rhaenys likes to share words with him, and Elia looks upon him so sweetly that he cannot deny neither of their wants.

At the end of it all, she extends to him, “you should join us again. If you so desire.”

“It would be an honour, my lady,” he tells her, and bows, as he’s supposed to.

She smiles at him, and he hopes this one is real.

-

Another tournament means another banquet. He fights in the joust because he always does. He’s never been unseated. Elia watches him from the royal box, with the Queen and the little princess at her side, and he so wants to impress her. He hates that he does.

Cersei gives him a favour - the kind that he cannot show in common society - and so does Rhaenys. She does it with a shy smile and recites to him the customary words like she’s been practicing. He wears it for her joy.

He wins. He always does.

He tells the princess it must have been her luck that did it, and when she smiles, there are gaps in her teeth.

“You’re sweet to her,” Elia murmurs to him. Rhaenys has run off for her father’s company, and he leads her around the dance floor.

“She’s the princess,” he states, pauses and then adds, “she’s a child.”

Elia hums, nods. “But not everyone is so kind to childhood. So thank you.”

She smiles at him, and this close, it’s even prettier than afar.

The words are out before he can stop himself. “Would you like to dance?”

Her smile falters at the edges but doesn’t slip away. She doesn’t show surprise if that’s what she feels, but he definitely feels like he’s overstepped his bounds. No, he definitely has. He steps back, ducks his head, “My apologises, my lady. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Her husband appears to escort her away before she has a chance to reply. He thinks that’s probably best. That way, at least, he can save himself some embarrassment.

-

“I would have said yes,” Elia says, and he stops in his tracks.

They’re not alone in the halls of the Red Keep, but she says it anyway. He tilts his head to look at her.

Her lips spread and part and show her teeth.

He’s never been blinded by a smile before.

-

They fall into bed together. He cannot exactly explain how. Rhaegar is away with his men, and Aerys is being watched by another of the kingsguard for this hour.

He takes her in her bed, a room away from her marital bed, and he gets to see those lips parted with pants and moans; bitten red and bruised.

In the afterglow, they lay side by side and stare to at the high ceiling.

“That,” he starts and stops because he isn’t too sure what he’s allowed to say.

“Yes,” she says nothing more.

-

It shouldn’t happen again but it does. Again, again, again.

-

There’s another banquet to celebrate a royal baby. Rhaenys is elated at the idea that she’s going to be a big sister, and tells anyone that will listen to her. She tells him four times, and each time, his excitement for her wains.

Because he can see the exhaustion in Elia’s bones. He knows that there are days that she cannot get out of bed. He knows, through rumours, that her ladies in waiting have had to bathe her because she hasn’t the strength. He remembers how tired she was when Rhaenys was born and hates that he might be the cause.

They cannot know for certain, not until the babe is born. It terrifies him to think this child might be his, just as much as it scares him that might not be.

But still, Elia smiles. She holds her stomach and strokes the bump, and lets Rhaegar speaks of the dragon prince that sits within his wife.

(Aegon looks like his mother more than his father, and he doesn’t know the truth. He only gets to hold the boy once. He’s so tiny, sleeping the day away, and when he snuffles, he thinks, just for a second, that Aegon bore the face of a Lannister. But then, he could be imagining things. Hope could distort even the strongest of visions.)

-

Rhaegar crowns Lyanna Stark at Harrenhal, and no one is to know what that means.

Elia smiles when it happens, and he thinks it must be a falsity but he cannot be sure. She doesn’t speak to him about that day, about her husband, or about how she feels about it. He wonders whether it’s because she doesn’t trust him, and doesn’t want to find out the truth.

-

The dragon prince runs off with a wolf, and war starts.

People burn.

People suffer.

Rhaenys dies.

Aegon is beaten.

Elia is slashed.

He knows who is responsible. Everyone does. Lannister red is the colour of blood, and he swears the Rains of Castamere can be heard echoing through the halls of the Keep. For the slights that Aerys delivered, for the possibility of power, all dragons must die.

Robert Baratheon is crowned and takes Cersei as his queen. She demands her brother at her side, lips painted red and smile sickly sweet – a lie, always a lie, he knows that now – and he goes.

He almost tells his father what he did, who he killed. He almost – but he doesn’t. Because it doesn’t matter now. It makes no difference. They’re gone – Aegon and Rhaenys; Elia and her smile.

-

In his dreams, she smiles and they dance.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [hit me up on tumblr](http://gladers.co.vu)


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